


Fidelity

by Mosca



Category: Hockey RPF, Olympics RPF
Genre: 2014 Winter Olympics, M/M, Soul Bond, Team Canada, Telepathic Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 19:04:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1196064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mosca/pseuds/Mosca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Team Canada's actual secret weapon is the telepathic soul bond between Crosby and Toews.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fidelity

**Author's Note:**

> Lovessong beta read this, and the whole thing is also her fault.
> 
> Warnings and canon pedantry at the end.

They don't talk about the soulbond. Practicing together at the Olympics, they feel it again like they have since they were fifteen. Their parents signed a form allowing experimental performance enhancements. It was supposed to increase team cohesion, and they weren't supposed to notice. Now it's eleven years later, they're in Sochi for another Canadian gold medal, and they can hear each other's thoughts.

"Good practice," they hear in each other's heads. They hear it out loud all the time from teammates and coaches, but it feels different when they know it's genuine. Thoughts and emotions can't lie. Changing in the locker room, they hear the rest, the deep-down stuff: "I'm still jet-lagged." "I'm pretending my knee doesn't hurt." "I'm not sure we can beat the US this time." "Hell, I'm a little afraid of the Russians." "I missed you." "I love you." "I heard that." 

After a while, they can't tell whose thoughts are whose.

In Vancouver, they stayed in separate hotels to keep the noise in their heads down. But that way, their systems shocked every time they got close enough to hear each other. They'd walk into press conferences and have trouble picking the journalists' voices out of the telepathic clutter. Thank God for well-rehearsed answers that suit any question. "We're just going to give it everything we've got and take it one game at a time."

This time around, they have a double in the Olympic Village and more uninterrupted hours together than they had even in high school. They've been in Russia a week, and their minds have basically merged. This should not comfort them, but they feel calm in each other's presence, balanced.

One of them wants to jerk off after they beat Norway. The other thinks it's a waste of energy until minds and desires mix together. "I'll take a walk," they say in unison, neither remembering whose idea this was in the first place. 

They need the separation. Sid goes up to the roof and tries to stare out at the mountains, but he can only see the Olympic Village lights, turning the clear night red and gold. Tazer strolls to Canada House to sign a few surprise autographs. They're not far enough apart, and their emotions mingle: confusion and anger, restlessness and love.

Tazer turns back at the Canada House door. Inside of five minutes, they're in their room, kissing. They can't tell which of them started that, either. They know it was both of them. They're not really separate people anymore.

Sex together is masturbation. Their minds have tangled so they can't tell whose hand is on whose cock. They might only be touching themselves. They wonder who is going to fuck who, who is going to take one up the ass. For brotherhood. For Canada. They're kind of willing and kind of hoping the other will do it. How will they even know until one of them leaves the room alone? Whoever's sore gets to be on top next time.

One of them is fucking, and the other is getting fucked. One is getting a reach-around hand job, and the other has a cock in his hand. They are a stack of spoons. They feel twinges of pain and surges of pleasure. They come together and stay where they are, drowsy in each other's arms. 

Their girlfriends are going to dump them. It would have happened anyway. They can't love anyone like they love each other. That opportunity, that choice, has been taken away. They can hate the truth, but they can't pretend that putting a few hundred miles between them will fix it. Separated, they are not whole people.

If' the team-bonding drug had worked as planned, things would have turned out so much worse. It is bad enough to be bound to one person, let alone twelve or twenty. The two of them can contrive to never play against each other – they can always claim to have a stomach flu or a concussion migraine – but with so many Shattuck-St. Mary's graduates in the NHL, they'd never avoid the distraction, never be fully sure which team they were on. They'd be too confused to play. 

They fall asleep grateful for things going wrong.

The next morning in the locker room, Sharp is giving them the side-eye. Sid can't figure out why, and Tazer _knows_ why, and suddenly they are two guys who live their own lives. One of those lives involved getting trashed with Sharp and Kaner after their first Stanley Cup win and confirming the true myth of the Shattuck-St. Mary's Soulbond. 

That night, they destroy the Austrian team despite doing their best to be polite. They're almost never on the ice at the same time. "Sharp said something to Coach," they hear in each other's heads. They agree: "We need some space."

Sid barely has to tell the Team Canada rep that he needs a hotel room to clear his head, and he has a king-size bed and a mountain view. He can't sleep. He might be just within earshot of Tazer, close enough to hear that Tazer isn't sleeping either. But he's probably making it up to help himself feel better.

They get through a couple of nights with Sid in the hotel and Tazer in the Olympic Village, minds jolting into sync at practice, then trailing out of range as they leave. On Sunday, Sid misses all his shots while Tazer warms the bench, and they almost lose to Finland. In the locker room after the game, they hear in each other's heads, "Sid is the team captain, and he can do whatever the fuck he wants." It is easier to think when they can think together.

Sid's going to give up the hotel room after tonight, so they take advantage of the king-size bed. The other one is on the bottom this time. They're pretty sure it's the other one, at least. It feels good, either way. There are advantages to a lover who knows exactly what you want.

They have a few days to relax because they've won their qualifying group, a few days to figure out how to make this work. In practice, Sid parks Tazer on the bench, makes Tazer his eyes and ears, his strategic brain. Sid can be all instinct and reflexes. They step on each other's mental toes for a few minutes before they learn to divide the work. They switch when Sid physically needs a break, not quite seamlessly, but fast enough. By lunchtime, they are one mind divided into two jobs.

In bed that night, it is good to be two bodies together, noses touching. What will they do when they go back to Chicago and Pittsburgh? "Play worse," and it is good to be two bodies laughing. They'll still play pretty darn well. And someday they'll retire and move up to Nova Scotia. They'll do a lot of fishing. They'll forget what it felt like to be separate people. They can wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: The soulbond in this fic interferes with judgment and might read as dubcon to some.
> 
> Canon pedantry: Takes place in the alternate universe where Crosby and Toews attended Shattuck-St. Mary's at the same time. In reality, they missed each other by a year or two.


End file.
